


Do Me A Favour

by nni



Category: Borderlands, Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Manipulation, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-20 23:17:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6029047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nni/pseuds/nni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jack had said that he had a gift for him, the closest thing to a “thanks for bringing me back from the digital grave” that he would probably ever get, this.. hadn’t exactly been what Rhys had had in mind.</p><p>Don’t get him wrong, it’s not like he’s ungrateful; his cybernetics are in desperate need of the update, and considering Jack had been, uh, living in them for- god how long had the whole Pandora nightmare even lasted?- it’s not like he could hide the fact. Not that he would normally even be comfortable accepting something like this, but he’d consider it an investment in the company’s future, and Jack is kind of a dick, so. Hey. Compensation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Partner, Lemme Upgrade You

**Author's Note:**

> hey, kids!  
> okay, so, this work is pretty inspired by bioshock. so if you're familiar with the games, you might know what's going on.  
> but either way, sit back and enjoy the ride!
> 
> takes place as a sort of alternate path to the rule ending  
> tags and rating will be updated with the chapters  
> hoping for semi-regular updates, based on what life throws at me

When Jack had said that he had a gift for him, the closest thing to a “thanks for bringing me back from the digital grave” that he would probably ever get, this.. hadn’t exactly been what Rhys had had in mind. He’d been sort of surprised that Jack understood the concept of a gift at all, if he was being honest, but then again, maybe he really didn’t. His exact words had been something along the lines of not wanting his latest chew toy operating like a tin can, and killing his former meat suit felt a little too close to dying again, so yes the upgrades are necessary. And mutually beneficial, if he’s going to be working as closely with Jack as he’d implied, which is the only way Rhys could ever see Jack offering to do something for anybody other than himself anyway, so.

Don’t get him wrong, it’s not like he’s ungrateful; his cybernetics are in desperate need of the update, and considering Jack had been, uh, living in them for- god how long had the whole Pandora nightmare even lasted?- it’s not like he could hide the fact. Hell, he’s excited even, like a kid on Mercenary’s Day whenever new tech is involved. He’d even managed to talk Jack into replacing that retro-chic yellow plating with sleek, sexy polished plasteel (which had taken a lot more work than it really should have; Jack is weirdly attached to his signature colour). Not that he would normally even be comfortable accepting something like this, but he’d consider it an investment in the company’s future, and Jack is kind of a dick, so. Hey. Compensation.

What he’s not so psyched about, is going under. Since he’s linked straight into the ECHOnet, Jack can access his subsystems remotely and do what he needs no problem, but the process is pretty delicate, and risky if his organic bits are left awake during the whole procedure. Plus, it feels sort of weird to replace the plating on his arm while he’s awake. Thus the anesthetic, sort of a hard reboot of his system to let the upgrades take hold without, y’know, short circuiting and electrocuting him from the inside out. Which, okay, fancy new upgrades are really only worth it if you don’t die an hour after they’re installed, but still. Not a fan. It’s too much like sliding under the knife again, and, while he doesn’t regret agreeing to the original hardware, surgery is definitely not his favorite hobby. 

Jack is nowhere to be found, of course, but Vaughn is there with him, at least. He’d been able to use his new clout to extract him from Pandora and bring him back to Helios, and since technically there’s nothing surgical going on and therefore it’s not necessary to be absolutely sterile, or even in an operating room at all, other than Jack’s insistence and easy access to the anesthesia, he’d managed to talk them into letting Vaughn stick around. He’d been there as much as he could back for the original implant procedure, moral support and cups of weird-smelling soup in hand every morning as Rhys had recovered, and having him here now helps quell his nerves. 

Well, that, and the way the world is slowly fading in and out of focus with each deep, soothing breath from the mask. But Vaughn is helping, too, he’s sure. Kind of sure. He’s.. sort of starting to forget who Vaughn is. Actually, he’s sort of starting to forget who he is, thinks he manages to ask before the world blinks out and he’s floating in a sea of black.

* * *

The first time Rhys thinks he opens his eyes after the procedure, the world is blue and he jolts with cold electric fire coursing through his veins. It doesn’t hurt, but he can feel it, and everything is so far away, like his nerves are stuffed with cotton. Nothing makes sense, nothing even exists other than the distant murmuring of voices and a wash of brilliant cyan, abstract pixels swimming through his vision. For a brief moment he wonders if this is Jack, if he’s somehow taken over and this is it for poor little Rhysie, backseat driver in his own body. Whatever small bit of rationality is fighting through the haze reminds him that that’s not possible, that’s not what’s happening, but he can’t remember what is. He thinks he must have said something because the tide of voices has stopped, thinks he feels his arm reaching out for-- for what? He doesn’t know, doesn’t have the energy, lets himself slip back into the welcoming arms of sleep where things make sense and he doesn’t have to think or feel or be.

* * *

This time when he wakes, breaks through that watery half-reality of deep sleep, it’s just him and Vaughn. The light that flicks on when the machine that’s mapping his vitals registers that he’s awake lets him know that the peace probably won’t last long, but he’s just relieved that nothing is aching. Not much more than usual anyway; no sliced skin trying to mesh with mechanics, no circuits overriding synapses or dampeners overcompensating for the extra electricity flooding his system. Just what seems like the most mild hangover he’s ever had and a vague, buoyant feeling. 

Vaughn failing spectacularly to keep a straight face, though; That’s the same as all those years ago.

“Okay, what did I do this time?” Rhys asks, still sort of groggy and trying his best to glare at his roommate. He props himself up on the annoyingly flat recovery room pillow, Vaughn’s grin only spreading wider as he comes to adjust the bed to a steeper incline. It feels sort of weird lying in a hospital bed in his street clothes, and he tugs at his sleeve, shimmying to find a more comfortable position.

“Oh, nothing, nothing,” Vaughn lies, and while he appreciates the attempt to protect his dignity, he knows it’ll be much more fun to laugh at himself later, so he stares him down until he caves. It takes all of two seconds. “You just sort of, you know, forgot that you’ve known me for like nine years and begged me to be your ‘bff.’ Like, you actually said bee-eff-eff. I wish I was joking.” But the grin on his face is fond and jovial and barely holding back a fit of laughter.

Rhys groans and drags a hand through his hair, laughing at himself under his breath as he slides out of the bed. It takes a second for that floating, bambi-legged feeling to subside, but he manages, arms stretching above his head with a satisfied hum. “At least I didn’t cry this time, right?” He jokes, but Vaughn hesitates just a second too long before rushing to agree, and his laugh tapers off as he scrubs his hands over his face. “Oh god. I’m a travesty. Let’s pretend I never said anything and still have some self-respect, okay?” His hand waves down Vaughn’s attempts to soothe his wounded pride as he makes his way to the attached bathroom.

Cool water feels wonderful splashing over his face, washing away that tacky feeling of too much sleep and the drying saliva trailing down his chin that Vaughn had been kind enough not to point out. A hand scrubs over his mouth, eyes flicking up to the mirror to see-  
“Oh for-- are you kidding me?” He pulls gently at the skin around his eye.

“What, what’s-- oh, you mean you didn’t know?” Vaughn asks, now standing in the doorway and adjusting his glasses, watching Rhys tilt his head at different angles as he tries to decide if this is real or some medically induced hallucination.

“What, that he was gonna change the plating on my eye, too?” he says, incredulous as he gently prods at the skin, revealing more of the metallic white of his eye. A bright, honey-amber iris stares back at him, and he should’ve known Jack would be that kind of asshole. It’s like ‘boundaries’ and ‘personal space’ are myths to him. “No, amazingly he left out that little detail.” The corners of his mouth turn down even deeper as he silently admits to himself that the new colour actually kind of.. suits him, offsets the new silver gleam of his arm nicely. Not that he’s ever going to so much as think of telling Jack.

He must’ve been alerted to Rhys’ waking status as well, because his HUD flashes with a notification of a message from the devil himself. “What a jackass,” Rhys grumbles as his eye blinks to life, scoffing at how the circuits suspiciously resemble the letters H and J. The message itself is no less cocky and irritating, a simple image of a thumbs up with the words “ur welcome” written boldly underneath, and he’s not really sure what to do with the knowledge that Jack texts like a teenager. Not that he and Vaughn are much better, but that’s not the point.

Rhys groans, already about to lament his situation when the doctors file in again. This round of examinations breezes past much more quickly than before; just the perfunctory ‘hey you’re still alive and these upgrades haven’t fucked up you or your cybernetics right’ checkup. There are some features to his new enhancements that he can’t access, asking for remote permissions that are repeatedly denied. Apparently it’s nothing to worry about, although that doesn't do much to loosen the knot of apprehension coiling in his gut at the idea of being locked out of some of his own systems. The doctors, however, seem completely unfazed, only offering the fact that Jack wants to explain some of the new functions face to face before he uses them, and giving him the all clear. Jack must be getting all this information filtered through in real time, because he’s still thanking the doctors when another message comes through. “work. monday. don’t be late.”

As he and Vaughn make their way to the fast travel to hop from the med bay to the residential sector, he’s vaguely aware of Vaughn saying.. something, in the background, but he finds it hard to focus. He’s still playing around, testing out some of his new features, trying to keep that rising anxiety at bay. It’s not just from the fact that he’s got new functions floating around that he doesn’t have control over yet, doesn’t even know what they are, although that’s a big part of it. The other part is that realisation is finally climbing over the horizon from just a few lines of text, that crystallising moment where he suddenly catches on that this is all actually real. That this is a real thing that’s really happening to him in his real life, and not just some disturbingly vivid fantasy. And he’s not sure if he’s ready.

Working with Handsome Jack has been his dream since.. well, pretty much since he’d heard of the guy. But now the reality of it is sinking in, setting him on edge with anticipation and apprehension. What is it they say? Never meet your idols? Well he has, and okay, yeah, theoretically it’s worked out great for him so far, but that doesn’t stop the anxiety creeping into his mind. He’s gotten a closer look at him during their time on Pandora, still barely scratched the surface of who he really is, how he operates, and the promise of seeing more, the thrill of it, the fear of the unknown tugs at his nerves. 

What’s going to happen the first time he dares to disagree? Because they will, it’s inevitable. In so many ways they want the same things, have the same goals, but he's nowhere near as.. severe. There are going to be times when he just can't let the ends justify the means, not even for Handsome Jack.

He’s still excited, sure, but in a way that makes his skin feel tight and his heart pound inside his chest. At least he’s got the weekend to try and calm his nerves, right?

Monday.

He can last until then.


	2. Date With Your Left Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhys _really_ hates surprises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spaceowl gave me the idea for this chapter title  
> it's staying so you can live in your shame, bruh
> 
> anyway, a bit more plot! (?) enjoy

Even here on Helios, surrounded by eternal night, where the only sunlight comes from the tanning beds on the Rec Deck, Rhys isn’t- never will be- a morning person. So it’s really a testament to how shitty he feels about this whole thing that he’s made time to visit the prison deck  _ first thing in the morning _ , before he’s scheduled to meet Jack for his first day as ‘Vice CEO,’ as he’s taken to calling him. At least, that’s what he’s trying to convince Sasha and Fiona from the other side of their holding cell, but judging by the looks on their faces, it’s.. not exactly working.

“Oh,  _ thank you _ , Your Divine Doucheliness. We’re  _ so glad _ you could  _ take time _ out of your  _ busy schedule _ to come visit us poor lowly prisoners. Couldn’t maybe, I dunno, let us out, though, huh asshole?” He.. probably deserves that. Sasha sneers, letting her back fall against the wall with a  _ thunk _ , arms crossed petulantly over her chest. 

At this point, it's probably safe to say that whatever had been going on between them down on Pandora, whatever spark they may have had, has fizzled out. Hell, he'd probably shot that horse in the face the second he'd mentioned that he maybe kinda sorta had Handsome Jack bouncing around his brain. It's fine. He'd probably imagined that the stupid crush he may have been nursing had been anything more than one-sided anyway.

Fiona chimes in with a bitter “Look at you,” and she’s doing just that, eyes narrowed and lip curled in disgust. “Nice haircut. Haven’t even started your first day and he’s already got you dolled up like a little kept boy. How’s it feel being Handsome Jack’s lap dog, eh, Rhys?”

He has to admit that, from where they’re standing (hell, from where  _ he’s _ standing), that’s probably exactly what it looks like. An escort-- okay, no not an escort, a bodyguard maybe? Had shown up at his door sometime early Sunday afternoon, followed almost immediately by another text from Jack insisting that if he was going to be working with him, he had to look the part. A  haircut and half a new wardrobe at Hyperion’s expense later, and here he is, hair slicked back in a suit of rich blacks and deep teals almost the exact shade of the tattoos on display beneath the undone buttons at the top of his shirt, avidly denying that he looks like all those douchebags he and Vaughn had mocked just a few months ago.

“C’mon, guys, you know it’s not like that, right?” He sighs, and hopes he sounds as genuinely  _ shitty _ as he feels as his left hand comes up to scratch at the back of his neck out of nervous habit. “It’s not like I  _ want _ you guys to be in here, but there’s only so much I can do.” And it’s true. He may have more power than before, but still not enough. Not enough to override Jack, anyway, and as far as Jack’s concerned, anyone and everyone from Pandora is still a lowlife bandit (although he’s not so, ah, polite in his wording). Getting him to promise that they would stay  _ alive _ and  _ unharmed _ was hard enough, and getting something out of Handsome Jack, well. Baby steps. It’s all you can do.

Honestly, it’s terrifying how similar the girls look when they’re both pissed off.   
“Sure, sure, of course,” Sasha again, always the mouthy one, batting his excuse away like a fly. “I should’ve known better than to trust Hyperion. And to think, I considered you-- _ugh_ ,” she breaks off in a grunt, equal parts frustrated and disgusted and something.. else, that Rhys can’t bring himself to look deeper into. He’s not sure which hits him harder, the tone of her voice, or the look Fiona gives her as Sasha turns her back and heads toward the far end of the cell.

He sighs, and his entire frame slumps forward under the weight of his- what had Loader Bot called it? His tide of bad decisions? That doesn’t really even begin to cover it, he can’t help but think at this point.

“Look--”   


“Rhys, don’t. Just.. don’t.” Fiona’s voice is softer than he deserves, and her face is softer still. He’s pretty sure he hates himself. 

“Li-- Just listen, okay?” His voice has more of an edge to it than he'd like, and it looks like she's about to tear him a new one until she sees the way he winces, throws his hands up in a silent plea for truce. “I did what I could for now, all right? I know that doesn't make it better or okay or anything, but it's.. I'm working on it. Me and Vaughn are working on it, and we're gonna find a way to get you guys out of here without getting any of us..” He swallows and lets the sentence hang. They both know where it's going, and the thought isn't exactly pleasant.

As angry as Fiona wants to be, as angry as she  _ is _ , he can still see that understanding in her eyes, in the way she holds herself as she sighs. “Sure. Whatever you say, Rhys. Just.. sooner rather than later, all right?” It's not a question so much as a line in the sand, an indication that he's already overstayed his welcome and this conversation is  _ over _ , and Rhys is at least smart enough to take the hint.

“I know it probably doesn't mean much, but I'm sorry, I really am, and I'm-  _ we're _ \- gonna get you out of here safe and sound, okay?” He doesn't get a reply, doesn't really expect one, but he offers one more soft apology before he turns and takes his leave.

Ignoring the way Yvette calls after him when he passes her cell, surprisingly, doesn’t make him feel like any less of a dick.

Coffee. He needs coffee. That’ll make everything better. Or, at least more tolerable. He's still got enough time to swing by one of the coffee shops in the Hub before he has to meet Jack at the weapons testing range. Which brings him to the next big question of the day:

Why had Jack asked to meet him there, exactly?

Well, he hadn't  _ asked _ , not really. Even when Jack asks for things, it's still more of a demand than most people could ever squeak out in their lives. Point being, he would've figured he'd start off in, y’know, an office maybe? Congratulatory breakfast? But god forbid he  _ asks _ why this is destination number one; not for lack of trying, but any time he had, Jack had just refused to “spoil the surprise.”

Rhys hates surprises. 

The coffee helps. Specifically, his favourite white chocolate mocha with a salted caramel cakepop because he is an  _ executive _ and he's had a  _ hard mornin _ g and he deserves to  _ treat himself _ , damn it. By the time the elevator dings and he nods good morning to the testing level receptionist, he's already halfway through his venti and feeling more like a functional human being with every sip.

He’s never been to this part of the station, and there are a lot more.. corridors than he’d imagine for a shooting range. A lot more rooms, for that matter. But then, he reminds himself, Jack hadn’t said  _ shooting _ range, he’d said  _ weapons testing;  _ Hyperion makes a hell of a lot more than just guns. Thankfully, most of the rooms don’t seem to have the giant glass walls you see in R&D, and he’s probably better off not knowing what’s waiting on the other side. He’s not really in the mood to guess what’s behind door number one, and the whole thought-to-text thing is still kind of weird, but quick and efficient, and within seconds he’s shooting off a text to Jack to see which room he’s looking for.

He wishes he could say he’s surprised when the answer is “69D ;)”.

When he gets there, the space itself feels somehow.. sterile, yet industrial. Everything is spotless and made from something he's not even sure he's seen before, some dull grey glinting in the low, recessed lighting. Probably some specialised polymer so the only things to be destroyed by elemental weapons are the targets. And, he supposes, whoever is unlucky enough to give Jack a poor demonstration.

Jack himself is on the other side of the room, leaning up against the half-wall that separates the shooter from the targets, chattering into his echo and waving Rhys over as he reluctantly says goodbye to his empty coffee cup, letting it fall into the trash bin near the entrance. There are long, heavy-looking tables lining the walls to his left and right. They look like they’re probably meant to hold the weapons until they’re ready for use, but as Rhys passes them, he can’t help but notice that they look distinctly.. empty (not that he can say he’s disappointed. If he never has to use a weapon again it’ll be too soon). His face scrunches in confusion when he reaches Jack, who clicks the call off abruptly without so much as a warning to the person on the other end.

“Hey, look who made it! Long time no see, pumpkin! Didja miss me?” He says, brows waggling as he claps Rhys on the back, sounding entirely too chipper for how early it is, and even though he hasn’t raised his voice Rhys could swear it echoes off the walls. Three days doesn’t exactly feel like a ‘long time,’ actually, he could probably use a little more of a break after the whole Pandora..  _ excursion _ , but Rhys is gracious enough not to point that out. “Rough morning, cupcake? You look a little..” The last word is drawn out as his hand teeters in the air like he can’t quite find the word he’s searching for, but it probably isn’t positive, despite the artificial sweetness lacing through his tone.

“You.. could say that,” he says slowly, looking around the space one more time to make sure he isn’t missing something before returning his attention to Jack. “Um, so, what.. what is going on exactly? I thought, y’know, since you asked to meet you  _ here _ we’d be, I dunno, trying out some new weapons or something, but I don’t--”

“We are!” Jack’s grin is spread almost as wide as his arms, and he looks way too pleased for someone who isn’t making any sense. He’s looking at Rhys like he’s expecting just as much excitement on his end, but it’s a little hard when he’s still so lost. Maybe a venti wasn’t enough.

Rhys just gives Jack a  _ look _ that he’s sort of hoping will wipe that stupid smug smile off his face and draw out some answers. Instead, Jack just grins impossibly wider and leans in, raising his brows like he’s just waiting for the pieces to fall into place any second now. “Okay, great. Uh, you know there aren’t actually any weapons  _ in here _ , right?”

Jack’s expression turns almost predatory then, and Rhys flinches away on reflex, but Jack’s hands land heavy on his shoulders as he leans in, close enough that it’s impossible to break the eye contact he’s so pointedly established. “I’m lookin’ right at one.” 

It feels like Jack thinks he's just dropped some mind-blowing revelation, but Rhys is still about two steps behind. He's not a weapon. He's not a Siren or a soldier and he's honestly not even sure if he'd managed to kill anybody other than that skag on Pandora so much as poke them with a stick that probably felt like licking a light socket, or siccing LB on them. So, not with his own two hands at least, always one step removed. Sure, he's second in command of one of the most morally questionable corporations in business now, but he’s not so much the muscle as the, um.. all right he's gonna stop that train of thought right there, because one look at Jack reminds him that he wouldn't exactly call himself the brains or beauty here, either (although he’s definitely not  _ stupid _ or  _ ugly _ by any means), and he's not in the mood to look a gift horse in the mouth and wonder why he's still around.

“Uh, Jack? I’m not--” Jack's eyes flick to his neural port, his ECHO eye, the shiny metal of his right arm that still catches Rhys off guard since his upgrades--

His upgrades.

One step behind.

“Executables I still can't access,” he mumbles, then swallows and looks Jack in the eye as resolutely as possible while sifting through his systems and files. “The upgrades.. Jack, what did you do?”

“Uh, what I  _ did, _ Rhysie, was make you a turbo badass. That sexy little arm of yours can send a nasty shock, like up to250 amps, to whoever you want, starting-” he takes a moment to fiddle with his ECHOwatch, and suddenly all the errors and ‘access denied’ warnings fall away to a sleek targeting system- “now.  _ You're welcome. _ ” Rhys sort of just.. stares, mouth flopping open and shut, trying to find the appropriate balance of indignation and righteous fury. 

Rhys  _ really _ hates surprises.


End file.
